Où ça mène quand on s'aime
by moliereunderthestairs
Summary: What could quite possibly be the only English-language Le Roi Soleil fanfiction on the internet. Louis x Marie Mancini.
1. Chapter 1

He kissed her, and she kissed him back!

And it lasted for the longest time.

Until Mazarin burst in.

"Stop!" he huffed, out of breath. They jumped away, and he pretended to have noticed nothing. "Sire," he panted, "pardon me, but we leave for Spain tomorrow."

Louis froze, though only for a second. He took a deep breath and smiled genteelly. "Monsieur Cardinal," he began warmly. "Please, let me stay. I would like to ask for your niece's hand in marriage."

Then the queen sauntered in, head held high. "That won't work, Louis," she said sternly. "You're forbidden!"

Cardinal Mazarin rolled his eyes. "Sire, don't be ridiculous! We've already promised to have you wed to that Spanish princess."

He didn't know what to do. He always got his way. He turned his back to them and embraced her. "Please. Monsieur Cardinal, Mother, I'm going to marry Mademoiselle Mancini."

Mazarin shook his head. "Sire, I cannot allow you to do something so…infamous? But I've never betrayed the confidence of the monarchy. You have to have your wedding in Spain, and I will choose a husband for my niece."

He glanced at her desperately. "But—but I love Marie!" he cried, finally losing composure. "I really—"

"You idiot," groaned the queen. "You cannot mix sentiments and the state!"

"And the state demands that you marry Maria Theresa!" added Mazarin. "For peace."

The king shrunk away, pathetically. Marie gazed at him desperately, imploring him to speak, but what did he do?

"You are absolutely forbidden from doing this," spat the queen.

Nothing.

"You'll be the death of me," she groaned, fiddling with her dress' pompous ruff as she walked out.

The king did nothing.

"Sire, tomorrow we leave for Spain," sighed Mazarin, shaking his head. "Prepare yourself for the journey.

"Louis!" Marie whispered, throwing herself into his arms. "Say something…"

"And you, Marie!" he continued, disgusted. "I'm sending you to Brouage, in exile. We can't have you running wildly around Paris any longer. The monarchy deserves better than this idiocy." He stormed out, red robes trailing behind him.

They were alone again, and Louis held her quietly for a very long time, until she dared to speak again.

"Oh, Louis," she whispered. "Why didn't you stop them?" She pulled away and turned to face him, eyes beginning to fill with tears. "And why can't you stop them?"

He bowed his head in shame. He had no answer.

Marie gently cupped his chin in her hand and lifted his head, their eyes meeting. "Well?" she asked softly. "Louis…?"

He shook his head and looked away. "It's forbidden. We can't…we…"

Marie's face grew red. "And you're the king—the king of France!" she cried. "Measure up! Remind them who you are!"

"It's forbidden," he repeated lamely.

She slapped him. "And this is what we've learned," she spat. "That love is…unspeakable. Uselessly unspeakable." She stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind her.


	2. Chapter 2

He sat down and buried his head in his hands. "I'll love you forever…" he murmured.

"Aw, really? Thanks, bro!"

Louis started, looking around wildly. His brother Philippe, whom they all called Monsieur, stared down at him from an ornamental dresser, giggling as his long mane of hair dangled joyfully downwards.

"Bonjour, mon cher frère!" he called down, grinning. "How's it going?"

Louis stared at him with dull eyes. "Let's not talk about this, Monsieur."

"Ah, so it doesn't go!" He made a face and winked at him. "I think we do need to talk about this, dude."

"Let it be, Monsieur." He stood up and turned to the door. "Just…you know."

"You want to win the girl back, don't you?" Monsieur asked softly, seriously.

He stopped, turning around slowly. "It's not exactly that I lost her…" he began.

"It's not exactly that you lost her, but…you lost her," Monsieur finished, twisting a strand of his mane around his finger. "Really, bro. King of France? Please. Don't let Mom and Mazzy boss you around anymore."

"'You cannot mix sentiments and the state,'" Louis repeated dully.

"Come onnnnn," He leapt gracefully from the wardrobe and somehow landed on his feet without stumbling in his high heels. "You _are_ the state. You do what you want. Besides, she's a real cutie. Not my type, but you know how it goes." He smoothed a wrinkle on his feminine skirt.

"I am the state…" he whispered, intrigued. "But I've always taken the advice of Monsieur Cardinal and Mother! I don't know how not to," Louis confessed.

Monsieur stared at him. "Dude. It's easy. You just don't do what they tell you to do."

"But there's always the country to think of, and my Spanish fiancée." Louis started to leave. "It's no good talking about this. What's done is done, and I don't want to restart the war. I'm marrying Maria Theresa."

"Wait! Remember that time you died and everyone told me I would be king?" Monsieur laughed at the memory. "And I was like, 'haha naw man, that job's not for me?' Actually, wait. You wouldn't remember that. You were dead."

"Your point?"

Philippe chuckled. "Actually, I don't really have one. Other than that I'm not the king for a reason, but you are. 'Cause you're good at it. And if she really means so much to you? Then go get her. Don't let the state tell you what to do 'cause like I said you are the state!"

"Stop it with this 'you are the state' nonsense, Philippe," said Louis. "Mother and Monsieur Cardinal are the real heads of state. I'm just a king."

"Just a king in looooove," his brother crooned. "Now go! Save the girl! _Vas-y_!" He pranced away, loudly singing something a capella.

He wandered over to the window. A thousand rays of the setting sun shone upon the kingdom, _his_ kingdom. And there was the carriage waiting below, to take Marie Mancini far away from him. And for the first time in many years, he was…afraid. For once he didn't know how to get his way, how to charm his mother and his minister into letting him keep the only thing—the only woman—who had ever mattered to him. His essential.

_You are the state_.

He clutched the idea in his fist like a scepter and strode out of the room, head held high. He only had to tell them no.


	3. Chapter 3

"I'm so sorry, your highness, but…well…"

"But what?" he asked sharply, glaring down at the cowering servant.

"But…oh sire, I'm so sorry. She's gone."

"Fool!" he spat. "She cannot be gone. She was still here not even an hour ago."

The servant paled. "No, your highness, sir, um, well, you see…Mazarin wanted her gone immediately," she stammered. "He's actually been planning this for weeks, and, uh, um…"

"That's…that's enough." Louis walked away, slowly, his face expressionless. Already gone, and without a single word of apology, not one last goodbye! He moped quietly to himself in the nearest salon, his newfound confidence crushed like the Fronde. He had wanted to kiss her pale face and whisper to her sweet words and dance, dance with her, one last time. For courage.

He wandered towards the general direction of the stables, half-heartedly wondering if he should chase after her. She was perfect! but she was gone. Exiled. And, somewhere, the Spanish princess sat by her window and watched the sun set and brushed her long hair, thinking of her wedding night. Was she excited? Scared? Angry? Would she love him? Understand his language? And had her father already hired a dozen cavalries to skewer him if he broke her heart?

He ran into Mazarin in a back hallway. The minister nodded at him vaguely as he ran off orders to a servant.

"Monsieur Cardinal," said Louis, waiting.

"—the Italian vice? Tell the Philippes to try and keep that quiet, jeez—oh! Yes, Sire?" Mazarin huffed, a bit embarrassed. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, Monsieur Cardinal, I…" This was it. This was his shot.

"Yes, sire?"

"I'm…excited for the wedding." He cursed his stupidity, and his cowardice.

The cardinal nodded. "Yes, well, I'm glad you've gotten over your infatuation with my niece so quickly. What's good for France is good for you."

Louis grimaced. "Actually…I'm excited for my wedding. Not the Maria Theresa's wedding."

"What do you mean, sire?"

"I…" He pictured her face, and he went with it. "I'm marrying your niece, Monsieur Cardinal. I've made my decision."

Mazarin turned redder than normal. "That is forbidden, sire! I refuse. Everything is already arranged with Spain and—"

"Mazzy, I'm the king of France. You can't stop me!" He sauntered away laughing, ignoring the cardinal's cries of rage and confusion behind him. "Oh, and it's rude to exile a future queen behind the king's back!" he called over his shoulder.

He'd said no to his minister!

He…he had said no to his minister.

He tried not to think about it. The very idea was painful, and he was not looking forward to his next cabinet meeting. He thought instead of crowning Marie the Queen consort of France and Navarre, and of her smile that would glow with the crown jewels, and he made it to the stables without a change of heart. He shoved aside a bewildered stable boy and trod through the lowly muck to the stall of his fastest horse, where he found—


	4. Chapter 4

"Louis! What…?"

His mother, brushing its mane.

"Mother!" he cried. "Why are you in the stables?"

"I should ask you the same thing, my son," she chided. "But alas, you've uncovered my secret. I come out here every now and then to feed the horses, even though this muckhouse is undignified for royalty. It relaxes me."

"Yes, of course. As for me, well, I, uh…I decided to go on ride tonight but didn't want to bother the servants," he said. It was half-true.

His mother saw through his lie. "You're forbidden from chasing after Mademoiselle Mancini, if that's what you were planning on, Louis," she growled. "You are marrying the princess of Spain. You are immature and foolish, going on about the Mancini brat! You cannot possibly understand what is best for the state!"

Louis shook his head. "I _am_ the state, Mother. And I know what I'm doing." He mounted his horse and trotted past her, holding his head high and avoiding her eyes.

"Stop! Stop! You're going to restart the war!" she yelled as he rode away. "Ugh! Foolish boy. Servants, stop him!" she shouted to the fidgety crowd of fascinated stable boys.

None of them dared to interrupt the king's quest except for one, who jogged to catch up with Louis' horse.

"'Scuse me, m'sieu your highness?" he said nervously.

Louis smiled down at him. "If any of you try to stop me, I'll have all of you hanged!" he told him jovially.

The servant stopped dead in his tracks, and Louis rode off the royal estate uninterrupted.

The streets of Paris were strangely empty, and the few wanderers who were did not pay special attention to the well-dressed man on the white horse who did not look like he knew where he was going. He had never travelled through Paris except by carriage. He vaguely knew the way to the bridge that led to the southwest road to Brouage, and he flew down the road in the hopes that it was the right one. She had an hour's head start, but the bulky carriage could certainly not outrun his fastest horse.

He pressed onward into the darkness, soon crossing the bridge into the wilderness. Within twenty minutes he could barely see the road, and he regretted not bringing a servant with a torch. He began to slow down, already feeling very far from home and very lonely, very out-of-place. At this point it was unlikely that he would catch up to her.

And then he saw the carriage rolling along under the stars.

He rode up the valet and smiled at him. The valet let out a small shriek and halted the carriage, drawing his sword. "Thief! Thief! You shall not be robbing the Mademoiselle today, oh no sir!" he cried, waving his sword dramatically.

"I will not be robbing her because I'm the king of France, silly man," Louis sighed as he dismounted his horse.

"Thug! Stop telling lies about our great monarchy!" The man quietly pulled a coin from his pocket and furtively checked the resemblance. He nearly fell off the coach. "Oh—oh mon dieu. Your highness! I beg, plead, and implore your forgiveness! Mon dieu oh my goodness I am so sorry I am not worthy…"

Louis rolled his eyes. "Allow me the presence of Mademoiselle Mancini. I have many things to discuss with her."

"Sire, out here? But—"

"Do not question the motives of the monarchy," he said sharply. The valet screamed quietly. "And we will require a ride home. The streets of Paris are no place for a queen."


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's note: My utmost apologies for the waits between chapters and my utmost thanks to the readers who've stuck with me, especially to my proofreader/idea-helper/biggest fan who encouraged me to keep writing from day one. You go unnamed here, but truly, thank you._

Louis opened the carriage door quietly and found that Marie had dozed off. He sat down softly next to her and tapped her gently on the shoulder.

Her eyes opened half-heartedly. She blinked at him, then fell onto his shoulder with a small smile. "I love dreams," she murmured sleepily, closing her eyes again.

He took her hand. "But it's not a dream," he whispered in her ear. "My essential."

"Louis?" she whispered, confused. "But you're marrying that Spanish lady."

"Really?" he said. "Funny, I thought she was actually Italian. An excellent dancer, apparently, and very, very beautiful. I heard she was the most envied woman in all of Paris."

"But how could that be? France just won the war with Spain…"

"They also say that the king loves her. They're right."

And he leaned in and kissed her dearly, passionately. Her eyes opened wide in surprise but closed again contently as she kissed him back, and she held his hand and he stroked her soft hair and in the carriage they kissed, really kissed, for a very long time under the stars of night that were warm and dark and lovely.

The coach began to turn around, towards home. And though Mazarin and Mother grew closer with every passing mile as their responsibilities fell further and further away, it didn't matter. For now they were content to hold each other gently in the darkness, whispering quietly of grand promises to paint the Parisian night with fire. France was to have its queen, and the nation would soon dance.

When the carriage rolled at last into the palace gates, he hugged Marie for one long last moment, and she fell sleepily against him again.

"We don't have to go," she murmured. "We can stay here forever."

He shrugged and kissed the top of her head. "But why rest here in a musty old carriage when there's a grand palace right in front of us? The queen of France deserves far better. We simply cannot stay here. And that's an edict from the king." And with that he gently shrugged her off of him and stood up delicately in the small carriage. "Come."

Marie tensed, the moment shattered. "I can't go in there. I was exiled! I was—"

"Hush, hush," he said with a reassuring smile. "It's all going to turn out fine."

"But what about the queen? And Mazarin? They're going to stop us!" she said, her voice rising in panic. "I'm going to start a war, I'm going to—!"

He sat her back down on the seat and sat across from her, looking her straight in the eye. "Anna Maria Mancini, my beloved, my essential," he began. "You have no reason to worry. No war, no revolution, and certainly no Spanish princess will ever get in our way. I'm the king of France, and you shall be my queen. It's decided."

Marie sighed. "You let them stop us last time, your mother and Mazarin. What makes this time any different?"

"I am the state, Marie. No one has the power to stop me, and no one will dare try. I will rewrite history so that I can love you to the end of my days, and that all the world shall know it." He leaned in close to kiss her straight on the lips, slowly, softly.

"Trust me," he said quietly.

"I trust you, Louis," she whispered. "And I love you, too. I think that'll get us through."

He grinned. "Oh how I love you. Now come, darling. My bed is more than big enough for the two of us."

Marie giggled softly as he lead her into the cool night air, arm in arm. "Louis!"

"Anything for a queen, my essential."

They made their way up the stairs and into the palace, where his mother was waiting for them, arms crossed. "Louis!" she hissed. "How DARE you—"

He brushed past her with a genteel smile. "Don't worry about her, Mother. The queen simply needs rest, that's all. But thank you for your concern."

And he pulled Marie close and led her down the hall, smiling all the way. His mother almost stormed after them, but someone tapped her on the shoulder and she spun around with a glare. "Philippe!" she fumed. "Go to bed!"

"Don't worry, Mom," Monsieur said with a grin. "They're just two kids in love. Ça marche." He laughed and sauntered away beatboxing. All was well on such a fine dark night under the stars.


End file.
